The day I wished you’d walked in to my life again just imagine that you just did; I would fill you in on the things that you would have missed, like the sleepless nights that you would have with the hopes of a grown up man dressed in white who claims to be who says he is from the tales of this long standing tradition that you have and I would of thought he might of come just in time to save your life.
Yet as I have waited and waited he didn’t come so you had died. I don’t like it that you’re dead I can’t work it out how that it is impossible; it’s not the same where I scratch my own head to work things out, I know that deep down God doesn’t exist because he was never there to save me and all the palaver surrounding it and it’s like yeah right but I know secretly that you can hear me sometimes.
When I’m cold I reach a fleece that I could borrow for the time being from either TJ or Caspain I’m always trying to keep warm when you’re the sun. That day I sat with you beside your bed crying wishing for the things that I wish I should of said; watching you paint your nails red like you still got now over and over again, and if I live past 72 I do hope I’ll be half as cool as you are.
I got my pen and notepad as I sit in my little cottage window trying to create a story for you tonight; I know how much you like them because I know how to express my feelings through them just to make it feel alright, yet I know I will always keep you close to me because the crowds will understand and relate to the story like you never left.
I think you know I’m not doing so well…